


One Cannot Deny Love

by adjustinal



Category: Gotham - Fandom
Genre: Manipulation, Multi, Spoilers, Takes place after episode 11 of season 3, sad shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjustinal/pseuds/adjustinal
Summary: Edward seeks vengeance for Isabella's death, and his fingers are pointed directly towards the infamous Penguin. Will he fall in love with him while seeking revenge, or will he follow through with his intentions of destroying Oswald?





	

_“I don’t want to kill him, I want to destroy him. I want to take away everything that he loves, and I want to make him despise.”_

 

It echoed through the confinements of his angry skull, thoughts boiling over with hatred, spilling onto his desk in the mayor’s mansion. Ever since Isabella met her ultimate demise, this was the most hurt he’d been. Betrayed. Oswald, the one man Edward thought he could trust, had spun around and spat in his ear for his own selfish, selfish reasons. Does he hate Cobblepot? It’s a question for the taking, and right now the answer depends on the way the hands of the spinner are turning. Whether or not he hates him, vengeance is undeniable. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. Isabella was the last chance that he had for true love. The future had held such great things for them-- she helped him overcome his petrifying fear of Miss Kringle, for god’s sake. A single sheet of paper sat in front of him, and with a handmade quill finished with lime marble, courtesy of Penguin, names would be scribbled. Thin, calloused fingers would slide with expertise over the paper, eyes as green as the summer grass following with dark, furrowed brows.

 

‘ **Gertrud Kapelput** ’

 

Dead. Killed by the knife of Theo Galavans sister. The name would be crossed out, and a chapped lip would be sucked in between rows of pearled teeth.

 

‘ **Elijah Van Dahl** ’

 

Another name bites the dust. A thick line would cross this one out of his thoughts.

 

‘ **Butch** ’

 

Their friendship had died far too long ago, and he was sure that if he asked Oswald himself, the man would claim to have absolutely no ties with him.

 

His hand would hover inches away from the paper, face falling from concentration to intense thought.

 

There was one person he loved, as Edward knew.

 

‘ **Edward Nygma** ’

 

Himself. Could he fake his own death, leave Oswald in the mourning of the man he romantically sought after? No, there was another thought churning. A quick, sloppy circle would surround his own name, and when footsteps would sound through the room, a folder of the mayor’s affairs for the day would fall atop his list before any curious eyes could get a glimpse. The end of his custom made pen would be clenched between crooked teeth, just until the last voice he wanted to hear would echo through his office.

 

“I’m glad that you decided to stay with me- with us, I mean, Ed.” Oswald’s voice had the typical waver to it, and once a glance would be spared upwards to the man adorned in an expensive suit, he would find the nervous grin that the Penguin wore on a constant. Offering a tight lipped smile, Nygma would refrain from biting any tails of ultimately bursting a gasket and doing something drastic. Nothing would be said, however. Talking would lead to yelling, or perhaps it would give away the very prominent anger that was taking over each and every inch of his being. “We need to talk, Oswald.” The nervous grin would fall from the freckled face, and a nod would take place, shaky and anxious as per usual. It’s a surprise that someone with such crippling anxiety would reign the seat that he does now. King of the underworld and the beloved mayor. Glasses would be removed and folded, and his fingertips would massage the indents of his temples. “I don’t know how to say this.” He killed Isabella, he deserves this, doesn’t he? “About yesterday, what I said about being business partners.” Another nod from the other side of his desk would be given, and green eyes would seal themselves behind olive eyelids. “It was a rebound. I didn’t mean it.” Now he’d spare a glance upwards, to catch blue eyes staring him down in shock.

 

“I love you, Oswald.”

 

A deep breath would be taken, and Ed would take this time to prepare himself for the work of digging his own coffin, but one could assume that he was sincere; with his almost loving gaze upwards at the mayor, who was responding with a quivering jaw and chewing on a thought. “One cannot deny love, you said it yourself. I’ve just been so torn, I suppose, over Isabella. My thoughts are jumbled but--” Pulling himself to stand, Edward would straighten his blazer and his tie, before circling around the desk to face Oswald, and like that, his hands would land upon thin, quivering shoulders. His grip was tight, but not too tight, not enough to express his intentions.

 

“I know now, that I love you, and only you.”

 

“Ed--” Oswald would start, a stutter now broadcasted across the room, echoing through the halls. “I--” It seems that words aren’t in his grasp at this moment, so Edward would take a step forward, pulling him into the warmth of his arms, flush against his chest. His own head of neatly styled, brunette locks would be pressed against spiked black hair, chin neatly propped onto Oswald’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. I just had to get it off of my chest. Let’s just forget about what happened yesterday.” Edward swallowed down the feral anger once again, only to continue his speech. “I am in front of you, yet you can not see me, though you will eventually meet me.” He’d draw out, and the vibrations of Oswald’s chest would send his own ribcage spiraling. “The future.” Penguin would reply, voice quaking and his hands wrapping around broad shoulders. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Oswald wanted to own Edward, to call him his own in love and otherwise. Ed would give it to him. “The future.” Nygma would repeat, his fingers curling into dark, spiked hairs.

 

Game on.


End file.
